All posts by Eric Robert Nolan

Eric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. He spent several years a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. His work has also appeared on the front pages of numerous newspapers in Virginia, including The Free Lance – Star and The Daily Progress. Eric entered the field of philanthropy in 1996, as a grant writer for nonprofit healthcare organizations. Eric’s poetry has been featured by Dead Beats Literary Blog, Dagda Publishing, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere. His poetry will also be published by Illumen Magazine in its Spring 2014 issue.

And here is the latest thing that makes me feel old.

What’s with all the people in music videos looking so damn young these days?  Did they change the child labor laws?

There was a time when I was daily viewer of MTV (the sedate stuff on VH-1 was for old people), and I rocked hard, people.  It seemed to me that whenever I watched a video, I saw people who were my own age.

Now these videos are inhabited only by people who look young enough to be my kids. And that makes sense, because … they kinda are young enough.  (Yes, I realize the video below for The Calling’s “Wherever You Will Go” was made 18 years ago, but that’s beside the point.)  If the performers in a video today were in their very early 20’s, then they’d be about the right age, if I’d fathered kids when I was 26.

Furthermore, some astute commentators pointed out online Monday night that 2019 is the year in which the original “Blade Runner” (1982) was set.  The opening title card names “November, 2019” as the time when all things Fordesque turn angsty and existential and killer-androidy.  Am I … older than Harrison Ford’s character? I am six years older than Ford was when he made the film.

Now I just feel weird.  Why do I write these blog posts, anyway?

[Update: Today I am learning that “Akira” (1988) and “The Running Man” (1987) also set their stories in 2019?! That’s ironic, given that the future we’ve come closest to is that of 2006’s “Idiocracy.”

I wonder how people in our parents’ generation felt when 2001 arrived, if they’d happened to see “2001: A Space Odyssey” in theaters in 1968.]

 

Cover to “The X-Files Season 10” #21, Francesco Francavilla, 2013

IDW Publishing.

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My poetry, 2018

Care to peruse some of the poetry I’ve published in 2018?

You can find it here at the blog at the My poetry, 2018 page.

 

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Cover to “More Fun Comics” #17, Vincent Sullivan, 1937

DC Comics.

Happy New Year, Fellow 2019-arinos!

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Excerpt from W. H. Auden’s “New Year Letter,” 1941

Under the familiar weight
Of winter, conscience and the State,
In loose formations of good cheer,
Love, language, loneliness and fear,
Towards the habits of next year,
Along the streets the people flow,
Singing or sighing as they go:
Exalte, piano, or in doubt,
All our reflections turn about
A common meditative norm,
Retrenchment, Sacrifice, Reform.

 

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Have a Happy New Year’s Eve!!!

Have fun!  Be safe!  Enjoy!

Make sure you have a designated driver!  Or, better yet … why not be the designated driver?  What better way to spend the first hours of 2019 than as a hero to the people around you (maybe not the hero that Gotham deserves, but the hero it needs right now)?

I’m not sure how I’ve gotten to become such a mother hen in my old age …  Maybe it’s because, in my younger days, I was the one who needed mother henning.

Whatever, just don’t wind up like Gatsby, floating face down in the pool at the end of the night.  (But go ahead and totally be him up until that point.)

Postscript — the quote below, which I rather like, doesn’t appear in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” or its 2013 film treatment with Leonardo DiCaprio.  I’m told that the line actually originates from “Sex and the City” (1998 – 2004).

 

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“The Blue Expanse,” Arkady Rylov, 1918

Oil on canvas.

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Here is the irony of “Bird Box’s” (2018) plot device.

The (entirely invisible) creatures need incredible illusions to provoke their prey to kill themselves, and the creatures never exhibit any physical prowess of their own. (Their victims are never so much as scratched or bitten by the monsters themselves.)

Maybe that’s because they have no teeth, claws, strength, etc. Maybe they’re as fragile as baby fawns, which is why they must rely on such a unique method of attack.

It would be nuts if a future film or book sequel saw a single immune human just kicking them over like a drunk college kid out tipping cows.

Even better would be if someone suffered a traumatic brain injury during the chaos of the invasion — harming their visual cortex, and rendering them unable to process any visual information. They’d have huge vulnerabilities resulting from this new disability, but also a practically messianic power to save everyone.

(I think too much about movies when I need to do laundry, in other words.)

 

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(VERY hollow.)

Today’s agenda — help my fellow Greeks breach Troy’s defenses by constructing a vast, hollow wooden replica of my head and having them hide within it.

CALL IT THE TROJAN DORK.

 

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Cover to “Weird Mystery Tales” #21, Bernie Wrightson, 1975

DC Comics.

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